


1945

by tollpatsch



Category: SHINee
Genre: 2min are children in Germany, And all that entails, Angst with a Happy Ending, Concentration Camps, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I am certainly not one of those people, Minor Character Death, World War II, because I cannot deal with sad endings, because if there is anyone that can resist a good poly, but onjongkey are poly, if there is anything you think I should include here please tell me, please remember that Minho was brainwashed his whole life in here, some original characters that I love and adore, specifically, there is no romance between them, they are 10 and 8!, this is a rather heavy story please be cautious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 10:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16038179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tollpatsch/pseuds/tollpatsch
Summary: In 1945 in Germany, 10-year-old Minho discovers a strange but huge area with many mysterious, miserable looking people.One of them is Taemin, two year younger than Minho and seperated from him by an insuperable barbed wire fence.





	1945

It was the year 1945, but just barely. It was the second of January and all the fields were covered in snow. The weather was typical for Germany, but Minho still wished for it to be warmer. Because of the war, they didn’t have nearly enough materials to burn. The small hut in which he lived with his parents was constantly cold. Even the warm meals had been reduced to two days a week. Minho’s father was upset with that fact, he said a 10-year-old boy like Minho needed a healthy nutrition but it couldn’t be helped.

Minho and his parents were living in a small village near Munich, far away enough to be no destination of any of the Allies’ bombs. But near enough to hear the sound they made while falling from the sky. After the last attack on December 17 there were three families living with them now. There wasn’t nearly enough space for all of them but as the supervisors had said: being part of the _Volksgemeinschaft_ meant that everyone from the Aryan race had to provide shelter for other Aryans.

So, Minho had decided to flee for a moment, to get away from that stuffed room where not even all those bodies could give him the much needed warmth. His parents had told him not to go too far but they were too preoccupied with building defense mechanisms against the Allies to pay any mind as to where exactly he was going and how long he was gone for.  The other adults in their hut didn’t care about him anyways.

That was working to his advantage, because for quite some time now, Minho had noticed smoke behind a few hills. Being the curious boy he was, he was determined to know what was there. He had nothing to do now, after the school had closed due to the war and all the other boys, which were all older than him, had been drafted for military service by now.

Their mothers were still crying, even though when they had left, the trees had still been green.

 

* * *

 

 

The snow made crunching noises underneath Minho’s shoes as he walked across a big field, directly in the direction of his target. He was curious to know who had the luxury to burn so many materials right now. Maybe there was the mansion of a rich aristocrat. Maybe he was rich enough to give Minho some small pieces of wood.  

But when he finally reached the top of the hill, he was seeing a picture, completely different from what he had been expecting. Instead of a luxurious house with a chimney that was emitting dark smoke as a sign of wealth, he was seeing endless rows of identical houses – looking like cattle sheds – and several other buildings on one side of the huge area. The smoke was floating up into the air from a small, insignificant looking hut a little bit remote from the others.

Minho frowned. He didn’t like the atmosphere this complex was giving off. It looked grim and grey and sad and from behind all those uncountable sheds, Minho could hear the monotone clicking noise of people working in a quarry.

All of it gave the boy a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to run and get as far away as possible from this place, but something was holding him there. Something was telling him that he shouldn’t leave, that he should find out what he was looking at. Who knew when he would have another possibility to do so again?

Acutely aware of the fact that he should probably not be seen by any grown-ups, Minho slowly made his way downhill, keeping on the far-right side. He made a deliberate detour to make sure that he didn’t walk too closely to the bigger buildings. He may have been young, but he wasn’t an idiot.

Eventually, he got near to the area again, now noticing that there was a high fence around it, topped with barbed wire. He followed the fence with his eyes, to where the main houses were located and could see that the fence was higher there. In the distance, between some of the sheds, he could see several people walking in the direction of the working noises. Minho frowned when he noticed that these people were awfully thin, some were even barefoot! In the snow!

As a reflex, Minho clutched his, almost-too-thin jacket tighter around him, as if afraid that someone was going to take it from him. He started walking into the same direction as them, curious where they were going.

But he didn’t get far. After only a few meters, a sudden soft voice made him stop.

“Hey,” it said quietly, so quiet that Minho was unsure at first whether he had really heard it. He let his eyes wander around, until he caught the sight of a tiny, tiny boy sitting in the snow near the fence, right behind of the sheds so that he couldn’t be seen from the street the mysterious people were walking on.

The boy had black hair, just like Minho, and had a very fragile, rather outlandish looking face. Minho had never seen eyes like these. With a small shock Minho realized that he too didn’t wear any shoes nor socks, and his clothes also seemed to be way too thin to provide any protection from the biting winter. He was shivering ever so slightly, but he was smiling at Minho. It was a small smile, but his eyes shone with a sincerity that Minho had never seen before.

“Hello.” He eventually replied but didn’t go any nearer to the fence.

“Who are you?” The boy asked, in that same soft voice.

“I’m Minho.” He answered but didn’t ask back. He still didn’t know whether this was a conversation he wanted to have.

“I’m Taemin.” The other said, despite not being asked.

“Taemin? That’s not a German name.” Minho said accusingly and frowned.

“Not less than Minho.” Taemin shot back.

Minho bristled for a second but got a hold of himself quickly. “Well, yes, but I have a German name as well. Nobody calls me Minho except for my mother when we are alone.”

“Why did you tell me then?”

The question caught Minho off guard (again). Why did he tell him? Why wasn’t he walking away? Why wasn’t he at home in his usual, safe and familiar surroundings?

“I don’t know.” He admitted and slowly moved closer to the fence. Taemin’s eyes shone brighter the nearer he got, and he eagerly scooted forward as well. He had to look up now to look at Minho now.  

“What is your German name?”

“Michel.”

Taemin hummed in appreciation. “That also starts with an ‘M’. But I’ll call you Minho. I like that one better.” He announced with yet another smile on his face.

Now the corners of Minho’s mouth were also pulling up despite himself and he crouched down to be on eye level with the mysterious boy. “How old are you, Taemin?” He started to like the feeling of the name on his tongue. Taemin.

“I’m eight.” The boy exclaimed proudly. “You’re older than me, right?”

Minho nodded. “I’m already ten.”

Taemin’s eyes widened. “You’re so old already? What is it like to be so old? Are you able to do many things? Do you know everything?”

Minho frowned at these questions. “Um… to be honest, I don’t feel any different than when I was eight.” He admitted, watching as Taemin deflated with disappointment.

“Oh, that’s a pity.” The younger sighed.

At this, Minho had to giggle – but only for a few seconds. “Why is that so bad? Mama told me that being a child right now is the best, because they can’t hurt or take me.” His mind travelled back to the day when the other boys had to leave, and his mother was holding onto him, drowning his shoulder with her tears of relief. Even his father had had tears in his eyes.

“But, why-“ Taemin started to say, obviously confused, when a rustling sound came from a speaker near them. Taemin’s facial expression changed drastically, fear, raw fear invaded his eyes – and Minho knew what fear looked like. He knew it too well.

“I have to go now. Please come back.” Minho was informed and couldn’t even breathe in to reply when Taemin stood up and stumbled away. His bare feet tore through the snow as if they weren’t feeling the cold that was slowly draining the life out of them.

His stuttered “I- I will!” shout was too late – Taemin had already disappeared between the over towering sheds.

 

* * *

 

Minho’s parents still weren’t at home. Most of the other families weren’t in the hut either, save for an old woman, the grandmother of the man of the oldest couple living with them. She was ancient in Minho’s eyes and he was sure that she had already been there when Napoleon invaded Germany. She always told him that that wasn’t true but that didn’t faze him – old people were bound to have holes in their memories, weren’t they?

“Michel,” she called as she heard him enter the tiny living room. Her bed was in there because there was no other place for it. She was almost blind, could only differentiate between shadows. As far as Minho understood, she could tell the sounds the others made apart – according to her, Minho was the quietest.

“Yes?” Minho asked.

“Are you alright?” She sounded worried. “Your steps sound even more hesitant than usual today. Did something happen in Munich?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t been there,” he replied dully, not really in the mood to talk about his afternoon. Meeting Taemin had made a huge impression on him, one that had his mind reeling.

“Oh, alright then.” She said quietly, with obvious question marks in her voice. But she seemed to understand that Minho didn’t want to talk and patted the bed next to her.  The boy immediately made a bee-line over to the old woman to lay his head into her lap. He could feel her fingers searching for a moment, until she found his scalp and started rubbing soothing circles into it. Minho snuggled closer to her and closed his eyes with a sigh.

What place did he discover there? Why was Taemin there? Why had he been barefoot? Why had the other people looked so miserable? What had Taemin wanted to say before he had to leave? Why did he have to leave? Why was he so afraid? Where did he go? Why did he want Minho to come again? What kind of name was Taemin anyways?

So many questions and no answers. Frustrated, as a ten-year-old can be, he slung his arms around the old woman’s waist to get more comfortable and fell asleep, his mind too tired to think about all these questions  over and over again.

 

* * *

 

 

When Minho woke up, he was in his small bed. His blanket was tucked up all the way to his chin and he instinctively knew that it had been his father who had brought him to bed. He rolled onto his side with a small groan. Since the war had begun, the days were so monotone. Since they didn’t live in a big city, they didn’t have to be afraid of bombings and the school was closed and the _Hitler Jugend_ , where every real German boy should participate in, wasn’t happening either because of the war. There was nothing for Minho to do – except help his mother with cooking and cleaning, talk to the old woman in the living-room or read one of the very few books they had.

Minho frowned. He felt like he was forgetting something, something important. In his mind, there was something blocking the afternoon, telling him he had something to do then, like an appointment or a date. But Minho couldn’t remember what it was, and he lay there with a nagging feeling in his mind and stomach, that told him that he was overlooking an important matter.

Only when he stood up did the memories flood back into his mind. He remembered the endless rows of sheds and the people walking between them. And he remembered Taemin, the boy with bare feet in the snow who was so wonderfully mysterious and strangely easy-going at the same time.

The boy, Minho had promised to visit again that day.

A strange jolt of excitement, which he knew shouldn’t be there considering how strange and seemingly miserable Taemin’s current living-conditions seemed, ran through him. He almost felt bad at being so excited to meet Taemin, when they could only meet where Taemin was obviously treated badly.

Shaking his small head, Minho quickly put his clothes on and started his day. He helped his mother in the kitchen, tried (fruitlessly) to carry some of the food boxes they had gotten from the supervisor and kept the old lady in the living-room some company. All the grown-ups were so busy and didn’t want him to help since he was more likely to be a burden than useful.

After lunch – a small slice of bread with some butter on it – Minho asked his parents for permission to leave and stroll around for a bit. They were reluctant at first; no one knew when the Allies would attack again, even though they could be sure that no troops would come near them anytime soon. But Minho eventually convinced them that he would not go too far and only go where he knew his way around.

“Alright Michel,” his father sighed, the worry-lines in his face deepening even more. “But you have to promise us that when you any suspicious noises, you will come back immediately or hide.”

 

* * *

  

The snow from the day prior hadn’t melted one bit, still crunching under Minho’s feet as he stomped through it. It was freezing, and Minho couldn’t help but think about Taemin’s bare feet and his thin clothing. How did he himself have a right to be cold when Taemin was obviously the one suffering?

He had tried to take some pieces of cloth with him, but one of the women living with them had caught and scolded him, claiming that nothing he was doing could possibly be important enough to give him permission to take anything away that could be vital for them as the war progressed. Every tiny, insignificant seeming object could save lives later. The argument that Taemin was also a life had been on the tip of Minho’s tongue, but he had swallowed it down again. This woman gave him a bad vibe and he didn’t want to share the secret that was Taemin with a stranger he didn’t trust.

The walk to the mysterious area seemed longer that day in comparison to the one before. The hope for food or even wood from the day before wasn’t on his mind anymore. And even though he was looking forward to seeing Taemin again, all these huts had certainly seemed threatening. But not like his father when he had a suspicion about Minho and it seemed like the boy would get a punishment soon. This area made him feel like he was a small animal, like a mouse or a squirrel that would mercilessly be crushed.

Like the day before, he took a small detour to avoid the bigger buildings. But since the huts looked completely the same and Minho hadn’t paid attention and since Taemin wasn’t sitting anywhere, he had no idea where to wait. Afraid that he would be seen by an adult, he stayed in the trees on the bottom of the small hill. He could see people walking on the road again, more like staggering for most of them. This time some were carrying shovels or other tools. They made Minho curious. What were they doing? What could they be doing with shovels in winter? The snow covered everything!

When Taemin appeared, Minho’s toes had lost all feeling. Even though he couldn’t see it, he was sure his lips had turned slightly blue. He almost let out a scream of victory when he saw the small figure come out between two sheds about 50 meters on the right from where he stood.

He wanted to call out, but the atmosphere killed his loud voice, so he ran over as fast as he could (even though his parents had told them not to move much or do anything that could be considered sport because his body would need more food then). Snow flew through the air when he came to a halt right in front of the younger boy.

“Minho!” Taemin exclaimed happily. “You really came!”

“Of course, I promised you, didn’t I?” Minho replied proudly. Even when standing he was way taller than Taemin. “Taemin? What happened to your face?”

“Oh that…” Taemin raised his small hand and carefully touched his cheek that had an unhealthy looking blue-ish colour. The skin above his eyebrow was cracked too. “I asked the supervisor if he could give Hans some more food because he was working the whole day. He slapped me, and it really hurt because of his ring.” His dark eyes glistened with unshed tears.

The sight touched a place close to Minho’s heart – but Minho didn’t believe that his heart could really be affected by his emotions of course, his teacher had told them that it was only responsible for pumping the blood through his veins. Without thinking, he reached his hand through the fence. Luckily it was slender enough to fit through the gaps between the metal, and he tenderly touched Taemin’s hurt cheek with his fingertips.

The smaller boy stiffened at first at the contact, but he quickly nuzzled into his hand. “Your fingers are so cold.”

“Sorry, I waited for quite a bit,” Minho said with a quiet chuckle. “I didn’t know where to go, everything looks the same here.” It embarrassed him quite a bit, he didn’t like to admit that there were things he couldn’t do yet. He was already ten, had he been only four or five years older, he would have been soldier too.

Taemin looked at him for a few seconds and then suddenly hurried away without any explaining words. Minho’s hand still hung in mid-air, from where it had been curled around Taemin’s cheek. “Taemin?” But he wasn’t heard and quickly retracted his hand to look not completely stupid.

It didn’t actually take that long for Taemin to return but waiting there made him incredibly anxious. On the road were lesser people now and the day slowly faded into twilight – it was winter after all so the days were short. Minho would have to leave soon. His mother would go hysterical if he was home after the darkness came.

“What is that for?” The older boy asked when he saw a rather big stone in Taemin’s hands. It looked like it was too heavy for the small boy to carry. But Taemin reached Minho surprisingly fast and dropped the stone onto the ground.

“Here, now you can look out for this when you come back tomorrow.” Taemin beamed at him. The contrast of his expression and the state his face was in was so big that it almost made Minho shiver. Almost.

Taemin really wanted him to come back.

“So you want me to come again?” He asked and the younger nodded fervently.

“Of course! We’re friends now, right?” Taemin answered with a bright smile.

“I- I guess. Yeah, we are.” Minho tried to smile as well. It was a bit strange that Taemin thought of them as friends so soon – it was only the second time they met, and they could only talk. When the other boys had still been there, Minho had played with his friends and laughed, and it took some weeks to truly consider someone a friend.

But the war made everything different and strange and if being friends meant to never play with the other alone, Minho thought he could definitely do that. Taemin was too bright and too delicate to abandon him.

“Do you-“ Taemin started to say and was about to reach out through the fence when suddenly a deep male voice called out his name. The boy jumped slightly in surprise and turned around.

“Oh, Ernst, what are you doing here?”

“Diner will be soon and since you came so late yesterday, Hans told me to get you. Who is this?” The older man, around the age of Minho’s dad, maybe a bit younger, with light brown hair and eyes, eyed Minho wearily.

“That’s my new friend.” Taemin declared proudly and took Ernst’s hand. “His name is…” He threw a quick glance at Minho. “… his name is Michel.”

“That’s really nice, Taemin.” Ernst replied with a smile but still sported a look of suspicion towards Minho. “Let’s go then, you know we won’t get any food if we are too late.”

The boy nodded with a shocked look and let himself be dragged away. “I’ll see you tomorrow Michel! My friend!”

Minho just nodded and waved after them with a smile. He really didn’t understand what this place was. Who were ‘they’ Ernst had been spoken of? Did the supervisor that had slapped Taemin belong to them?

Who was this Ernst guy?

Full of questions, Minho turned around and ran back home, the sound of planes full of bombs making him run faster.

 

* * *

 

Over the next days, Minho visited Taemin every afternoon. Even though they couldn’t really touch each other, and their meetings were limited to that one place at the fence, they quickly became good friends. Maybe it was because their situation was so peculiar, and they never saw each other around other people – except for Hans and Ernst, the two adult men that seemed to take care of Taemin. Minho’s parents were concerned about his acquaintance, but, as his father put it: “Michel, we have too many things to think about right now”. Knowing Taemin gave Minho the spirit to wake up every morning and maybe even forget the possibility of the Allies reaching and burning down their village.

Ernst told him that the Allies wouldn’t do anything to a boy like him, “as shouldn’t every-“ but then Hans shot a glare at him and jerked his head to the direction of the oblivious Taemin and Ernst shut up. But most of the time, Taemin and Minho were alone, and the two men only came when it was time for one of the two boys to go.

Taemin spoke about the time before he had come to the strange place behind the fence. He didn’t know his parents – a circumstance Minho couldn’t even begin to imagine – and grew up in an orphanage. Minho hadn’t even known these things existed. The way Taemin talked suggested that he hadn’t hated it there and that he missed all his brothers and sisters. But the woman who took care of them had apparently disappeared as soon as these strange people in brown uniforms came to bring Taemin and the rest of the kids to the place he was currently in. But it was too large for Taemin to be able to find the other children.

Minho really wished he would understand more of all of this.

 

Five days after their first meeting, on the seventh of January, instead of Taemin waiting at the fence, Minho was met with the sight of the tall and blonde Hans who was definitely a few years younger than Ernst. It was unusual, and he slowed down upon seeing the adult. These last days, either Taemin or Minho would wait until the other arrived. Hans being there with no Taemin in sight was strange.

“Hello Hans.” Minho greeted politely, and Hans nodded back in greeting.

“Hello Michel.” His deep voice sounded strained. “How is your day?”

Minho just frowned at him in reply. He may have been still a child, but he knew when adults tried to change the topic – or rather, in this case, avoid a topic. Hans looked back and for a few moments they had a staring battle until Hans surrendered.

“Alright, I know. Taemin. That’s why you’re here after all.”

Minho nodded but didn’t say anything. He sensed an even more depressing atmosphere than usual behind the fence. By looking at it, nothing has changed – the sheds were still small and run-down, people were still trudging on between them and working noises were still the only thing echoing through the eerie silence that lay on the area like a grey blanket. Just like the thick snow that still multiplied almost every night.

“You see...” Hans drove his hand through his hair. “It’s actually… Taemin is sick.”

A stone seemed to drop in Minho’s stomach. Usually being sick would involve coughing and feeling unwell for a few days. But the way Hans had said it suggested that he meant the serious kind of sick. The we-should-get-a-doctor-immediately kind of sick.

Minho looked around anxiously. “You probably don’t have medicine here, right?” If they didn’t have shoes even though the ground was covered with snow, medical treatment was highly unlikely. Hans just shook his head. A silence ensued, in which Minho honestly contemplated getting medicine from his home for Taemin. It was unrealistic however – he wasn’t even allowed to take a small slice of bread with him when he went out.

“Hans?” Minho eventually asked into the silence. Something has been bugging him these last days and he’d always been so distracted by Taemin’s presence that he’d forgotten to ask. “Can I ask you something?”

Hans just raised his eyebrow. He wasn’t a man of many smiles or words.

“Alright, so um…” The boy began, unsure whether he would offend Hans in any way with his question. “You know I noticed… There is a pink triangle on your pajama-thingy and Taemin doesn’t have one, but Ernst has one too and well… I was wondering.” He mumbled the last part under his breath, intimidated by Hans’s stern frown. The man had one hand clenched over the triangle on his chest, right over his heart and bit his lip.

“You really want to know, huh?” He asked, and Minho nodded vehemently. He had never been told the important details at home (his parents always said it was too hard for him to understand). He liked knowing things. It made him feel smart.

“Alright, if you insist… I’ll.. tell you.” Hans gulped visibly and got down onto his knees to be on the same level as Minho. Minho’s father had never done anything like that. “But, you have to promise me, whatever I say, you won’t tell anyone. Do you understand. That’s important Michel, I can’t tell you otherwise.”

Their pinkies met in one of the holes in the wire-netting fence in a silent promise.

“So, you see.” Hans began, sounding incredibly on edge. “Your parents. They love each other, right?” Minho nodded. “And that is right, that way, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Because that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Man and woman have to be in love and then build a family with strong and healthy kids that can fight for the fatherland.” He recited dutifully. It had been one of the last topics at school, so he still remembered.

The smile that flitted across Hans’s face seemed more like pain than joy. “You learned that very well, Michel. But can you imagine that there are other forms of love?”

“Like the love of a mother to her child?”

“More different.”

Minho just looked at him, flabbergasted.

“What would you say if I told you that I can only fall in love with men?” Hans asked quietly, immediately going to back to torturing his lip.

“..With men?” Minho repeated, cocking his head to the side.

Hans nodded. “I love a man. Just like your mother.”

“Love a man?” Minho was confused. He’d never heard of anything like that before. “I don’t understand.”

“Uhum… Me neither.” For a moment neither of them knew what to say. Then: “But’s that’s why I’m here.”

Hans must’ve noticed Minho’s expression – he was so confused he didn’t even have words for it left – because he quickly went on. “Let’s just say, the people who run this country – you know, the _Führer_ and his friends –, “ Minho nodded eagerly “–  they don’t like people like me. Or Ernst. Or any of the other people in this area. So, they decided to put all of us here so that we won’t be in their way. I… I was betrayed by a person I trusted very much. They told them about me loving a man because they wanted to get a better job.”

Millions and billions of questions swirled through Minho’s mind; he had never been one to cope well with too much information. But just when he wanted to ask the first one (“But what did Taemin do wrong?”), he heard the crunching noise of feet walking in snow. The adult and the kid tensed up, afraid of one of the supervisors catching them.

It was just Ernst, though, with a sleeping Taemin in his arms.

“But you know what Michel?” Hans said suddenly as they watched the man approaching. “The good part about being here? I could bring my lover.” He smiled suddenly, a true, beautiful smile, and skipped over to place a kiss onto Ernst’s cheek. The latter gasped and blushed furiously before sending an alarmed look towards Minho.

“Relax, baby. I’ve just told him.”

Ernst did as he was told, or at least tried to. Still, he was very stiff when they came back to where Minho stood. Hans was just smiling, and Minho was still so confused, trying to get over the image of a man kissing another man’s cheek and calling him ‘baby’. At least it made sense, he pondered. For Hans and Ernst, he knew the reason for them to be behind the fence now. He didn’t quite see the problem with two men loving each other (they didn’t do anything bad, did they?) but maybe the important people higher up, like the Fuehrer, knew something he didn’t. They seemed to know so much Minho had no idea, or never heard of, so who was he to question their decisions? He was a bit sad though that they were treated so badly. Even if the Fuehrer wanted them out of the way, he could’ve done that in a nicer way, couldn’t he?

Taemin’s small body moved slightly as he coughed and immediately, all attention was on him. Minho’s heart clenched when he saw the state Taemin was in. The boy was ghastly pale, so much so that Minho doubted he would stand out against the snow. He lips were white as well and his eyes were closed, paired with an exhausted expression that made it seem like Taemin was simply not able to open them. His arms, legs and head dangled down from Ernst’s arms because he had no strength to anything up.

“Ernst?” Hans started, frowning. “Why did you bring him here?”

“He wanted to see Michel here. I couldn’t say no.”

“You mean he was awake?!” Hans gasped. Minho didn’t really listen to the two men. He was fixated on his friend and on the raw fear that invaded his mind. He had never been so afraid in his life – and he knew what fear felt like. He knew it all too well. When Hans had told him that Taemin was sick, he didn’t grasp the whole concept of that. But now, seeing the frail body shivering in Ernst’s hold, he felt something shatter inside of him. He had to do something.

“Yeah, he woke up, just whe- Michel!! What are you doing?!” Ernst interrupted himself when he spotted Minho testing if the fence would hold him. Maybe he could warm Taemin up better than Ernst. He didn’t really have a plan, but he had to get to Taemin, somehow.

“Trying to get over this.” He said as innocently as he could.

“Michel, first of all, this fence is over 3 meters high. You will fall and break all your bones and here is nobody who will or can help you. And second, you can never, never try to come here, alright?” Hans commanded sternly. “You have to promise me this Michel. Do. Not. Try. To. Cross. This. Fence.”

Ernst just nodded, and Minho deflated. The words had sounded so serious that even he understood that he shouldn’t try to argue.

“I want to help.” Minho mumbled under his breath.

“That is very noble of you. But you really have to promise this to Hans, do you understand Michel?” Even Ernst had lost his usual light edge in his voice.

“Alright, I promise.” Minho’s downcast eyes flew up. “But is there no way I can help?”

The two men exchanged a long look until Hans sighed. “Actually, you can do more than us.”

Minho perked up.

“You probably have medicine at home, right? Or a blanket. Even socks would be enough. Taemin has to get warmer to give his body the chance to concentrate on healing itself and not warming up.”

Thinking about that, Minho frowned. It was true, although sparse they did have some medicine at home. And he could live on just one pair of socks if it meant giving Taemin the opportunity to get healthy again. But his parents had strictly forbidden him to take any stuff out of the house without asking them first. That was why he hadn’t given Taemin some warmer clothing already.

But desperate times call for desperate measures.

“I- I’ll try.” He said cautiously. There was still a chance he wouldn’t be able to get it.

“Thank you Michel. That would be a great help.” Hans smiled his usual, barely-there smile. Minho let his lips twitch in response, still unsure.

Taemin stirred then, his eyes blinking open. Minho held his breath as he watched the sick boy look around, confused and then finally focus on Minho. “Mi-“ He started to call brightly but immediately fell into a coughing fit.

“Taemin!” That damn fence! Minho couldn’t even get closer to his friend.

“Taemin, don’t speak, I know your throat hurts.” Hans said soothingly and let the knuckles of his fingers stroke over the boy’s cheek. Taemin just whimpered in response but managed to raise his hand slightly to point towards Minho.

“You want to go over to Michel?”

A nod.

“Alright.” Ernst tried to smile and took a few cautious steps towards Minho until he was near enough that Minho could squeeze his hand through the fence hold the younger boy’s hand. It was trembling.

Neither Minho nor the three behind the fence said anything for a long time. Minho was quivering, just like Taemin. The strength in Taemin’s hand was almost gone but Minho revelled in the feeling of his friend’s fingers wrapped around his. The time they lived in was so scary, so grey that every flicker of light was worth to hold onto with all costs. And Taemin was bright. He was Minho’s sun in comparison to the dark atmosphere at home. They were at war, he knew that. He knew that people were dying and that they didn’t have enough food. He knew that he had no right to complain that his parents didn’t have time for him. But just patting his head from time to time or tell him that they loved him… Was he just too spoiled? Was he bad for wanting his parents to love him?

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Minho woke up to a silent, empty house. Not completely empty, as the old woman was still in the living room. But she was sleeping.

It was good for his plans. He wasn’t supervised so nobody would see him taking some medicine. But just a quick “goodbye Minho” would have been enough to make him happy. Now he just felt lonely. “At least I have Taemin,” the boy mumbled and got dressed. He had to get onto his toes to reach the small slice of bread that was left for him. There was nothing to go with it.

When he tried to reach the medicine in one of the top shelves, he had to climb onto the counter to get it. There were a few pills and small bottles. Because he hadn’t practiced reading in so long, it took a while for him to understand what each of them was for. Eventually he decided for one of the small bottles which said “Against Pains of all Kinds”. It sounded more promising than the rest.

Instead of a pair of socks, he found an old shredded blanket in the corner of his parent’s bedroom. It was dirty and had obviously not been used in years. Biting his lips in contemplation he eventually decided to just take it. They hadn’t needed that blanket in so long; the possibility to need it in the next weeks was slim.

He didn’t have the courage to take a pair of socks as well.

 

* * *

  

Ernst was overjoyed when he saw the blanket and the medicine. For a short moment it looked like he could bite back the tears, but it didn’t help. They still spilled over. Minho felt awkward – German men were supposed to be strong and stoic and never cry. Crying was a sign of weakness and Germans weren’t weak.

“Ernst? Are you German?”

“Yes, I am. Of course. Why?”

“But I thought Germans never cry.”

Strangely, that made Ernst cry even harder.

Hans was panicked when he saw Ernst cry as he joined them and, after looking around carefully, took his lover into his arms. Minho was confused by Ernst outburst. What confused him even more, however, was Hans’s whispered, “I know”. What did he know? How could he know? Do you have telepathy once you are lovers?

He shuffled around, not daring to ask about Taemin. The small boy would be better with the medicine and the blanket now, he was sure of it. He had to be. Clutching the blanket and the medicine to his chest he suddenly realized that it would be extremely hard to get them over the fence. It was so high that people would probably see the items flying over it. And Minho doubted he would be able to dig a hole. The ground was too hard for any digging with bare hands.

Soon enough, the two men listened to his problem, frowning. Ernst eventually observed that the blanket would fit through the holes of the fence. Hans and Minho agreed, feeling stupid for not realizing sooner and they quickly had the blanket over at their side. The medicine bottle was too big for the fence though. There was no way it would fit through it.

As they were contemplating endlessly about it, the sky was suddenly filled with planes. Thousands and thousands of planes were flying overhead them, making an incredibly noise. Hans and Ernst clung onto each other and Minho shivered on his own when they could hear detonations from the direction the planes were flying to. The destination was probably Munich, like it had been on the 17th of December. It was too far away, but Minho could’ve sworn he felt the ground underneath him vibrate.

He could see Hans shouting something over the unbearable noise, but he didn’t understand. What could he possibly say? Minho just shrugged his shoulders helplessly, signalling that he didn’t hear him.

Finally, the planes stopped. It couldn’t have been more than 5 minutes of them flying over them. But it had been enough to completely shake them to the core.

“Michel, do you hear me?” Hans’s voice cut through the thick fog over Minho’s ears and he nodded, turning to him, wide-eyed. “Listen to me Michel. You will now throw the medicine over the fence. The supervisors are still distracted, they won’t see it. You are athletic, I know that. You can do that, right? For Taemin.”

Without blinking even once, Minho nodded again and took a few steps back. He could do that. He would do that for Taemin. Taemin needed him and Minho needed Taemin. He had to do that!

A deep breath and a glance at the adults’ encouraging expressions later, he gathered all his strength and threw the bottle with all his might. It sailed over the fence in a perfect curve. Minho held his breath when Hans and Ernst tried to catch it – although it didn’t look like it at first, Hans managed to keep it from crashing onto the ground in the last second.

The sounds still hadn’t returned in Minho’s mind, though.

The lovers exchanged a short, cautious kiss before they returned their attention to the small boy. “Michel,” Ernst said as gently as he could, so gently that it managed to get through to Minho. “Now go home and let yourself be cuddled by your family, alright? You look like a ghost.”

Hans nodded vividly, looking rather shaken himself.

Minho didn’t say anything, just turned around and ran away. Through the forest over the hill, all the way to his family’s small house. His mind was completely blank, he didn’t think about the attack, about Taemin, about the medicine for Taemin, about his parents. He briefly wondered if that was what his teacher had described as a shock. But he couldn’t know and soon that thought was forgotten.

 

* * *

  

Reaching his home was completely different from what Minho had expected. He had expected his parents waiting for him, happy to see he was unharmed. Maybe even anger because they hadn’t known where he was.

But nothing could have prepared him for the true scenario. A car, a real car!, stood in front of their door and the cries of his mother could be heard even from the outside. Minho froze. Only the still lingering effect of that strange numbing fog kept him from breaking into a panic.

He burst into the house but the way to his parents’ room was blocked by all of their co-inhabitants. Briefly, he considered to politely ask if he could get through. The elbowing way seemed a lot easier though. Thank God he was still small, that way he actually didn’t have to use his elbows too much.

Upon finally entering the room, a lump rose in his throat. His father was laying on the bed, obviously unconscious. His facial expression was rather serene, but his right leg was torn open. Minho could see parts of the bone sticking out, huge wood splinters sticking in the flesh and blood. Blood everywhere.

His mother was crying on the bedside, listening to a finely dressed, bald man. The man was a good friend of his parents, if Minho remembered correctly. He was probably the owner of the car.

“- everything I could.” The man said in a surprisingly high voice. “You should get a doctor. So many dead.”

Minho’s stomach lurched at the words. Dead? People had died? In these mere 5 minutes? How strange…

“Michel, please get the pain medicine from the cupboard. You know, the one against all kinds of pain. Your mother looks like she needs some of it.” One of the women said and Minho was abruptly brought back to reality.

Not only was the medicine with Taemin, Hans and Ernst – Minho felt like he would break at every touch. The only thing he needed was a hug from his parents. But it didn’t seem like his mother would even let him be with her in her sadness.

 

* * *

 

The next day, both of Minho’s cheeks were bruised. When he had been asked to get the medicine, he had said that it had fallen once when he had been cleaning. He had thought he, as the son of his parents who were sheltering all these people, wouldn’t be punished too hard. Boy had he been wrong. After being slapped by the husband of the woman who had asked him for the medicine, he had cried out for his mother. But instead of saying something when Minho had been harshly pushed in front of her, she had simply drawn her hand back and slapped his other cheek.

He had eaten his sparse dinner alone in his room, before the couple he had to share it with came in. At night, he hadn’t been able to sleep, too worried about Taemin and his father and too hurt by his mother. She had probably been too stressed and desperate to react rationally, he tried to tell himself. The next morning, she would be back to normal and apologize. He had been so sure of it.

But when he had woken up, the other families had already left to wherever they usually went (probably to work) and his mother had still been sitting beside his still unconscious father. Minho had taken a few steps towards his father to finally acknowledge the injured man and to finally mourn openly. His father wasn’t dead but Minho, despite his young age, knew that things looked grim. But Minho’s mother had suddenly looked up and, with pure venom in her eyes, chased him out. “Get out of here!” She had spat.

Minho, although feeling like he had been drenched in a bucket full of cold water, had immediately understood. He had thrown one last look at his father and fled the house.

Currently, he was walking through the forest towards Taemin. It was too early, hours before they usually met. But where else could he go? His village was void of any other kids. Not even any of the kind adults were left. Either they had suddenly disappeared, or they had changed too much. Especially that really nice old man with the sweets shops at the corner was missed. The boy had loved the old man’s long beard and weird way of clothing. He knew that the man had been rich, but the man had never really paraded around with it. But when Minho had been six years old, winter 1941, the man had suddenly disappeared. It had been exactly two years since the war had started and Minho had wanted to spend time with the old man. His parents hadn’t given him any money for sweets because they had said not to give anything to the “traitors”. Minho hadn’t understood; he still didn’t. When he had arrived at the shop, it had been destroyed, the window smashed in and the entire interior in pieces. The man hadn’t come back since then.

It hadn’t snowed at night, but the snow had frozen. Minho was more sliding on his way than actually walking. Despite his downcast mood, it was kind of fun. Like all these stories about ice-skating he had heard. His parents just never had had enough money for skates.  

He arrived at the fence, prepared to wait quite a long time for Taemin, Hans or Ernst. However, he spotted a tiny figure, sitting against the back side of one of the sheds.

It was Taemin. He was tightly wrapped in the torn blanket Minho had brought the day before and obviously sleeping. Minho sighed and leant against the fence. He didn’t know why Taemin would already be outside or why Hans and Ernst let him sleep there when he was already sick. But the lack of sleep and the relief to see Taemin had him asleep in his standing position within minutes.

 

He was freezing when he woke up. Maybe sleeping outside in deep winter hadn’t been his best idea of all times. Judging by the sun’s position, it was around noon already. He would still have a few hours with Taemin left before it would set again. Speaking of Taemin… Minho glanced towards the shed, only to see the boy stretching weakly. Taemin was waking up.

Smiling, Minho wanted to greet him, but his expression quickly changed into one of worry when Taemin started coughing violently. His small body looked completely wrecked by the fit. The sounds his throat produced were horribly dry. It must have hurt a lot.

“Ta- Taemin!!” Minho cried, feeling completely helpless behind the fence. “You have to breathe!!” It was a stupid advice, he knew that. But it seemed to have helped. Taemin looked up, distracted and heaved a stuttering breath. His eyes lit up at the sight of the other boy.

“Minho!” He said, smiling and coughed a few times again, before it finally stopped. Carefully, he slipped one of his hands out of the blanket and scooped up some snow to eat it.

“What are you doing? Isn’t that unhealthy?”

“It’s like water. Just colder.” Taemin rasped in response. “We don’t get enough water per day, so Hans told me to eat the snow. It helps.” His voice grew weaker at the last words. Like his vocal chords weren’t strong enough anymore.

For quite a long while, neither of the two boys knew what to say. Taemin drifted into unconsciousness every few minutes, his body needing as much rest as it could get. Once again Minho cursed the fact that he couldn’t just go to Taemin and take him into his arms. The younger boy sure looked like he needed a firm hug to get healthy.

Almost an hour must have passed when Minho found a topic to talk about.

“Taemin?” He waited patiently for Taemin to wake up and listen to him. “Where are Hans and Ernst? And why are you here?”

Taemin was just about to open his mouth when Minho blurted out, “Wait!! Don’t say too much! You’ll start coughing again!”

His words were rewarded with a small smile. “Munich, couldn’t get here on my own.” He coughed again after that, but it wasn’t as violent as before.

Minho didn’t have the heart to ask what exactly the small boy had meant, so he just fell silent. Sometimes he talked about his life, about his parents – Taemin’s eyes flashed with worry when he heard about Minho’s father’s injury – and about what he wanted to do when he was older. His parents had told him that the war would eventually be over, but Minho couldn’t really imagine that. He had been three years old when the war had started, he couldn’t really imagine a time without war. How was a life where you didn’t have to fear the next bombing? Where you had enough to eat?

He didn’t say too much, afraid of straining his throat too much. Taemin may have said that snow helped. Still, Minho knew he wouldn’t have enough water to soothe a dry throat.

Taemin once asked about his bruised cheeks, just whispering the words, and Minho had only told him the half-truth. In his version, only the man had slapped him. He didn’t want Taemin to have a bad opinion of his mother.

It turned dark soon, like it always did in winter, but this time Minho stayed. His parents would be furious under other circumstances. However, with his father being injured and after his mother’s slap, he didn’t think they would miss him too terribly. Besides, he refused to leave Taemin out there in the cold. Hans and Ernst would probably come back soon from Munich. Minho guessed they were helping rebuild the destroyed parts? He couldn’t imagine them volunteering for that.

Taemin was fully asleep and Minho had to also fight against sleep when the two men came back. They looked horribly tired, their striped pajama-thingies slightly ripped in some places and dirt all over them. Ernst was bleeding out of a cut on his cheek and Hans’s wrist seemed to be hurting a bit but otherwise they seemed to be unharmed.

“Hey Michel,” Hans quietly called out to him, smiling exhaustedly. “Thank you for waiting with Taemin. We didn’t want to leave him alone in the shed. And he really wanted to see you.” Ernst nodded from behind him, the sleeping boy wrapped in his arms.

“Oh, uh, I’ve been wondering..” Minho started and bit down on his bottom lip shyly. Hans looked at him encouragingly. “Do you think the medicine will help?”

He briefly considered that he could ask to have the small bottle back but immediately decided against it. He’d already gotten punished for its disappearance and it really seemed like Taemin needed it more.

Ernst and Hans just nodded quietly. Hans went over to place a gentle kiss on his lover’s lips before he waved at Minho and told him to get home safely. Minho watched them disappear between the sheds and for a brief moment he wanted to be part of their world, wanted to curl up between the two men just like Taemin probably did. But that was stupid, he could see that they were treated horribly, that they didn’t have shoes or proper clothing and that nobody cared about whether they were dead or alive.

Minho cared though. He cared so much it hurt that he couldn’t hug each of them.

 

It was terribly dark on the way home, only the moon helped him not to run into every tree that stood between him and his house. He got back at 8 in the evening, fully prepared for a lecture and maybe some screaming. But his mother barely looked up and his father was still unconscious. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Taemin is getting better. We didn’t bring him out here because he’s sleeping the whole time.”

“Michel, you should go home, it’s raining too much and you will get sick.”

“But you two are also outside. Why can’t I be?”

“We don’t choose to be here, Michel. If we could, we would also be inside.”

“Oh…”

“And remember to take all of your clothes off when you’re at home, the wet clothes will only make you cold.”

“If you say so Hans. Will you do that as well?”

“Of course, Ernst and I will cuddle up later and warm each other up, right baby?”

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Minho!!”

“Taemin!! You’re walking again!”

“Yes! Hans said I’m alright now. Ernst said so already the day before yesterday, but you know how Hans can be.”

“Oh yeah, I know that. But you’ve been sick for so long.”

“Mhm.. Ernst said it was more than two weeks.”

“So now you can’t get sick anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve been sick most of the time we’ve known each other. You’re supposed to be healthy, you know?”

“Ok, I’ll give my best.”

“Promise?”

“Promise!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Hans hurt himself today. In the quarry.”

March had just begun; the _Führer’s_ birthday was less than 2 months away. The year before, they had had no school on that day. Minho was excited about the speech on the radio from Mr. Hitler. These speeches were always so exciting. Taemin, however, was more interesting. With the weather getting warmer and more sun light coming through, the younger boy’s health had improved quickly. And with that, his personality had become more prominent, even more so than it had been before his sickness.

Taemin was shy sometimes but incredibly sweet. While he never found the right words to say to comfort Minho; he just helplessly told Minho why he liked him so much and why they were friends and why he was so glad they have met, whenever the elder was down about his parents. They were turning colder and colder. Minho’s father had woken up after a few days and Minho had hoped that his mother would be in a better mood after that and that the atmosphere in their house could get back to normal.

That hadn’t happened. Not at all.

Minho didn’t get hugs anymore, he could be happy when his parents remembered that he went out. Before, he had hated to be scolded when he was late. He had hated the disappointment in his parents’ eyes.          

But now… now he came home late intentionally, hoping for his parents to have waited for him, to at least tell him that they were worried. However, they didn’t even bat an eyelash at him.

At least he still got a meal every day. It wasn’t much, just some bread, but Minho held onto it like a lifeline to assure himself that there was still love for him at home.

Taemin had turned into his new home – true to the saying that home is where your heart lies – over the course of the last weeks. He only felt comfortable when he was around the younger boy and even started to be thankful for Taemin being behind that fence. Right after appearing, the thought made him feel terrible since it was obvious that the people there were suffering. Still. Was it wrong to be grateful for having met Taemin, Hans and Ernst even if it meant the three of them being imprisoned?

So, when Taemin muttered these words, sounding horribly hollow (just like his cheeks), Minho felt a pit in his stomach opening only to suck all warmth out of him. Taemin’s voice didn’t sound like he was talking about a mere scratch.

“What, what happened?”

Taemin shrugged, still so lifeless. “I don’t know. But Ernst cried and there was blood. I think it’s his hip? Or something? … They’re in the shed, Hans is out of it and Ernst doesn’t want to leave him alone.”

Minho bit his lip and slid nearer to the fence. “Hey, Taemin, come here.” His small friend looked up from where he had examined his toes in the newly growing grass. A tiny smile stretched across his lips and he scooted forward until they could link their fingers under the last row of the wire-netting fence.

 

* * *

 

 

Minho was on his way to get to the stone where Taemin would either be waiting for him or arrive soon. On this particular day however, an unusual noise stopped him from going further. Usually he only saw the rows of the sheds and heard the shuffling of peoples’ feet. It was always quiet there. But instead of eerie silence, he heard a set of running feet. Usually, nobody was crazy enough to burn more energy than needed.

So, when he noticed the unusual sound, Minho was too curious to ignore it and advanced towards the fence to see what was happening. It took a few moments until he could finally see what he was looking for. One of the supervisors, dressed in brown, was strolling towards the bigger buildings of the complex while a man ran after him. His movements couldn’t be called running actually. It was more like stumbling as fast as he could. He was wearing the same striped pajama thing that almost everyone wore and if Minho squinted, he could make out a pink triangle on his chest.

He briefly wondered again why Taemin didn’t have a triangle on his pajama, since Minho had noticed that almost everyone had one on their chest. But that thought vanished when he realized that he knew the staggering man.

It was Ernst, looking almost out of it. Minho’s eyes weren’t perfect – he had heard that there were glasses to fix that but who cared about sight when you could be bombed every day? – but he could still see that Ernst wasn’t completely lucid.

“Where is he?!” Hans’s lover demanded loudly when he was almost caught up with the supervisor.

The man dressed in brown didn’t react and just continued walking.

“He isn’t there, he isn’t in the shed. Where has Hans gone? I can’t find him! I just can’t find him anywhere!!”

Minho had moved along the fence, not wanting to lose sight of his adult friend. The supervisor finally stopped and turned around to face Ernst.

“Oh, you mean that fag who was stupid enough to hurt himself?” He sneered (Minho frowned; what did fag mean?). Obviously, it wasn’t a nice word because Ernst glared at him before nodding begrudgingly. “Did you just glare at me, you scum?!” The supervisor shouted and slapped Ernst hard in the face.

Minho winced, his small heart hurt upon seeing the scene.

“You see, you guys are tools. You are simply still alive to work in the quarry. Otherwise you would have been discarded long ago. Nobody needs disgusting people like you walking on the streets. So, when a tool is broken, you don’t need it anymore and you get rid of it.”

Ernst froze on the spot. Minho couldn’t see him clearly, but his posture suggested that he wasn’t even blinking. The man in the brown uniform just huffed indignantly, turned around on his heels and marched away.

Minho couldn’t comprehend what the supervisor had said. Why was he suddenly talking about tools? Hadn’t this conversation been about Hans? Where was he? Shouldn’t he be in the shed because he was hurt?

Behind the fence, Ernst still hadn’t moved. He dropped onto his knees after a while, but he still didn’t show any emotions. A different supervisor from the one who Ernst had talked to walked by, laughed and kicked Ernst into his back until he fell onto his face.

 

* * *

  

Minho didn’t mention what he saw when he met Taemin later. The younger boy was so excited to see him, and this was by far the best time of the day for both of them - he didn’t want to ruin it. They barely talked, they just sat there, leaning against the fence with their fingers locked. It gave Minho more warmth than he had at home, despite the worry about Hans and Ernst nagging in the back of his head.

 

“Something happened,” Taemin said quietly.

Minho had come to their meeting point just to see Taemin in a sleeping Ernst’s lap. The man was leaning against the shack, just like Taemin had done when he had been sick. He looked different, paler and even though it should have been impossible, thinner than before.

“What do you mean?”

“Hans is gone. We can’t find him. He shouldn’t be moving around with an injury.” Taemin bit his lip. “And Ernst hasn’t said a word since yesterday. He just… hugs me all the time.” As if to emphasize, the younger boy wiggled a bit, just to have Ernst’s arms tighten around him.

Taemin’s words gave Minho a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew he was too young to understand the adult world but after what he had seen the day before, he figured that something must have happened to Ernst’s lover. And judging by Ernst’s desperation, it must have been horrible.

“It will be alright, Taemin.” He smiled. “And when you are out of here, I will be the one to hug you all the time.”

The smile Taemin gave him in return as the saddest and at the same time most beautiful smile Minho had ever seen.

Some days later, Minho brought flowers. It was getting warmer slowly but surely and it filled Minho with hope. His parents had stopped talking to him altogether and the war was still going and still none of the boys of his village had returned. But in warmer weather, Taemin would not get sick again and not be so horrible cold all the time. It could only get better.

He had found the flowers on the way to Taemin and they were almost as beautiful as Minho’s friend. They made Taemin happy like Minho had never seen him. And even Ernst managed a small smile upon seeing them – a rarity because Ernst still hadn’t talked or shown any emotions since Hans’ disappearance.

Over the next few weeks, Ernst looked worse and worse. His cheeks were incredibly hollow which made his eyes stand out in a scary way. His fingers and lower arms looked more like bones than actual limbs. His head seemed too big for his shrinking body. He still hadn’t talked.

“He’s making me eat his food.” Taemin admitted, when Minho asked. “When I refused, he almost threw it all away, so it’s better I take it, right? But I don’t think it’s right. Hans wouldn’t have wanted this, would he? I’m sure he wouldn’t. I think he would have Ernst to eat and then he would… He would have…” Taemin’s voice broke and Minho wished, more than ever before, he could do more than reach through the fence and wipe away Taemin’s tears.

But he was just ten years old in a world that suffered through conflicts, bigger than the most powerful men. There was nothing he could do, except be with Taemin and show his friend that he was not alone after all. Because even though they had changed drastically, Minho still had his parents. Taemin had no one.

 

* * *

 

 

The _Führer’s_ birthday on the 20 th of April Minho had so looked forward to, passed without any indications. Minho had been excited to listen to the enthusiastic speech on the radio that would reassure him that all the bad things they lived through would be worth it. That in the end, all their sacrifices would not have been in vain. But it never came.

The old, blind lady in their living room stroked his hair comfortingly. “It’s alright Michel. The _Führer_ is probably just really busy. So many things are happening all at once and he has to take care of them. I’m sure everything is alright.”

Minho didn’t say anything, he just sighed and cuddled closer before falling asleep. He had told Taemin they wouldn’t meet that day and he had spent it sitting in front of the radio. The disappointment made him tired. This time his father didn’t carry him back to his bed. Minho woke up in the arms of the woman and it made him so uncomfortable that he left the house immediately to see Taemin and Ernst. His parents didn’t care anyway. They wouldn’t wonder where he had gone.

Six days after the _Führer’s_ birthday, there was another attack on Munich. The ground had just stopped shaking when Minho took off through the village to get to Taemin. He knew the area where he and Ernst were kept was far away enough from Munich, but he couldn’t help but worry. He wanted to hurry past a group of women when some words caught his attention. He came to a screeching halt and listened.

“Heidi seemed really sure when she told me. There are soldiers close to us. And she said it didn’t look like our uniform.”

Unable to listen to more after this, Minho walked off again. He wanted to run, get to Taemin as fast as he could. But he hadn’t had breakfast yet and he shouldn’t do anything that would cost more energy than needed. As he made his way through the woods, he contemplated what he should tell Taemin. He was terrified of the Allies coming to their village; they were barbarians that aimed to destroy all that was good about the superior German culture. They would be merciless with him and his family and Taemin… Minho stopped. What would happen with Taemin? If the German culture meant Taemin and Ernst and Hands being imprisoned in that large area, without enough food or clothes and Hans just disappearing after he was hurt… Would it really be that bad to see it change?

He shook his head and continued on his way. Of course it would be bad! His teachers and his parents and all those smart men on the radio, they had all told him that the allies should never be allowed on German soil. He would fight to protect his village and all the good that came with being German and he wouldn’t tell Taemin and Ernst about those rumours because – he slowed down again. Because what? Because he was afraid his friends would have hopes just to see them shattered?

Who was more important to him? His parents who he never really saw anymore? Or Taemin who had no one but him and Ernst? When did he stop holding the German above everything like any true German should? When did he stop being completely German at heart?

Full of gnawing self-doubt, he arrived at the stone. Ernst, lying on the grass, smiled weakly. Taemin seemed to sense his mood and they spent most of the time in silence. Minho ended up not telling them about the soldiers.

“How is your father?” Taemin asked the next day. Ernst was unconscious once again.

“To be honest, I have no idea. I don’t really see him.” Minho shrugged, trying to downplay the hurt in his voice. He was the older one, he had to be the stronger one.

“Oh, alright. Just, with the attack yesterday. I thought about him.” Taemin shyly stuck his hand through the fence and smiled when Minho intertwined their fingers. His other hand held Ernst’s.

“I wish my parents would ask about you. But it seems like they just don’t care about anything anymore.”

In response, Taemin’s small, bony fingers rubbed soothingly over his own and Minho felt bad because at least he had parents. But Taemin didn’t seem to mind too much.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure, when the war is over, they’ll be back.”

The words almost made Minho cry – because who knew when the war would end? And when it did… What would change, for better or for worse? He didn’t even really know what it meant, not to live in a war. How were his parents without a war to be worried about?

And most importantly, what would change for Taemin? There was no one waiting for Taemin.

“I will always be here for you.” He murmured, locking eyes with Taemin. The smile he got for his vow was brilliant.

 

* * *

 

 

When Minho came for his next visit (28th of April, a Saturday), only Ernst was waiting for him. Minho tried to ignore the anxiety rising in his throat at Taemin’s absence. In vain.

He dropped to his knees next to where Ernst lay, thankful that the man was close enough to the fence for Minho to reach out and lightly stroke his hand. “Hey Ernst.” He said. “How are you today? The weather is lovely today, isn’t it? Do you know where Taemin is?”

He didn’t expect an answer, of course not. Ernst was constantly giving Taemin most of his meals – ensuring that the boy would have enough not to get sick. But they were given really small portions, as far as Minho knew. He figured, if two meals couldn’t make an eight-year-old full, how could one ever be enough for an adult?

He was ripped out of his thoughts by Ernst gripping his hand surprisingly forcefully.

“Ernst?”

“Michel.” Ernst’s voice was infinitely weak, and Minho had to lean closer to hear everything. “Ruckus in Dachau. Superiors are nervous. Called Taemin to the quarry.”

Minho stiffened and returned Ernst’s firm grip. The quarry made him anxious.

“Michel, please, never leave Taemin. I will be with Hans soon, he will have no one.” Ernst spoke slowly, with may pauses when he had to catch his breath in raspy intakes of air - confirming the lingering thoughts in Minho’s mind.

“With Hans? But-“

“Promise me, Michel.”

Minho swallowed. He wasn’t used to adults anymore.

“I promise. Of course. I would never leave Taemin. Or you.”

Ernst’s lips just twitched into an expression akin to a smile before he drifted into unconsciousness again. Once more, after a long time, Minho cried.

The day was almost over when Taemin finally came. Minho had slipped in and out of a nap against the fence, the criss-cross pattern now imprinted on the side of his face. The sight of his friend made him let go of Ernst’s hand and jump to his feet. Taemin was limping, rather hobbling. His right leg looked weird.

“Taemin!” Minho’s cried, the sound reverberating through the silent air around them but for once, Minho didn’t care. Should everybody know he was there, it didn’t matter! Taemin was hurt.

“Don’t worry Minho.” Taemin’s expression resembled less a smile and more a grimace. In the fading light of the day, Minho could see sweat beading on his friend’s forehead. He was obviously in pain.

“You’re hurting!”

“Yes, but there is nothing I can do about it, is there?” Taemin didn’t sound like himself and definitely not like an eight-year-old boy, in Minho’s opinion. But the way he was enduring the pain, trying not to show how it hurt… wasn’t that what Minho had always been taught by the _Hitler Jugend_? Wasn’t it a feature possessed only by Germans? But if Taemin had this trait, why would the rest of Germany not want him, like Hans had explained?

“No, you’re right.” Minho conceded and sat down again. “But I wish you were not.”

Taemin’s eyes softened again.

Night came. It made Minho nervous; he had never been with Taemin this late and finding his way through the forest would be difficult.

And then in the morning… Minho’s heart stopped. Hans had had an accident in the quarry and the next day he had been gone. The memory of Ernst running after the supervisor to demand where his lover had disappeared to and being kicked to lie face down in the mud was still vivid in his mind. On the next day, would he be the one desperately searching for his friend? Only to have Taemin never return to him again?

“Taemin?” A small nose came in response. “Does it still hurt?

Taemin just made a noise of confirmation. Minho gnawed on his bottom lip.

“Would you mind if I stayed here tonight?”

“Would you?!” Taemin sounded and looked incredibly hopeful. The only time Minho had seen him like this before was after their first meeting when the younger had asked whether he would come back.  It made him wonder whether Taemin had had the same thoughts.

“Of course I would. And I will. Are you allowed to sleep outside?”

Taemin fidgeted. “Not really.” He admitted hesitantly. “But I don’t want to go inside. And the superiors are distracted anyway lately.”

Taemin soon curled up against Ernst, one arm stretched out to still reach Minho’s hand through the fence. “I’m glad you’re here.” He murmured and soon fell asleep. Minho figured it must be because he was in pain. When his father had been freshly injured, he had also slept a lot. Minho leaned against the fence and closed his eyes, but it took longer for him to fall asleep.

Thoughts about Hans kept him awake, how he must have felt on the evening after his accident. Had he and Ernst known that he might not be there the next morning?

The sleep he eventually fell into was fitful, plagued with nightmares and short episodes of being awake. Every time he came back to consciousness, his grip on Taemin’s hand was a bit tighter. It reassured him a bit – he was sure he would wake up when Taemin even so much as moved. Eventually that thought calmed him enough to let his consciousness slip away completely.

The cackling of speakers ripped him back into awareness and he blinked widely and looked around until he understood where he was. Taemin was still there, his hand securely in his own.

Minho’s heartbeat calmed down considerably.

He could not really see Taemin’s features yet since the sun had not completely risen but he could make out the frown. He could only hope it was from a dream, not pain still.

“Evacuation!” The speakers suddenly started blasting. “Leave everything behind and leave this place. Immediately.” The message droned on over and over again. People were appearing on the space between the shacks, most of them looking confused. There was an expression on their faces Minho couldn’t recognize. It seemed misplaced on their hollow cheeks and lifeless eyes. Slowly, people started to move towards where Minho knew the exit was. There were no superiors screaming at the crowd this time. Usually they would be there, beating the slow ones.

Minho put his attention on Taemin and Ernst, wanting to ask them to leave as well, so they could be together, without the fence. But they were both still asleep. He frowned. How could they sleep through all the noise the speakers and the people were making? And it was such a nice morning too…

 

* * *

 

“Taemin?“ Minho tried to wake up his friend. “Ernst?”

Neither of them reacted. Minho started pulling on Taemin’s hand. It didn’t have any effect – it only served to make Minho realize that Taemin’s hand was limp and he was the only one holding on. Slowly, panic started creeping in on him.

Taemin’s leg was still at a weird angle and his expression wasn’t peaceful. Weren’t sleeping people supposed to look peaceful? They shouldn’t look like they were about to cry, right? And it definitely wasn’t hot enough for Taemin to be sweating this much. Especially in the thin rags that Taemin was wearing.

Minho turned to try and wake Ernst but before he could even open his mouth, a realization struck him. Ernst was not breathing anymore. For the last weeks as he had grown weaker by the hour, his breathing had been getting harder and harder to detect but Minho and Taemin had always found it. Not this time. Ernst was lying on his back, so it should have been relatively easy to detect a steady rising and falling of his chest. But there was nothing.

A cold, dreadful feeling rose in Minho’s throat. His _Hitler Jugend_ group had been ended before they got to the parts about helping wounded soldiers. The knowledge how to fight had been more important of course. But right in that moment, Minho wanted nothing more than his group to exist again. He had not liked their supervisor, he was always too strict and said many things that Minho didn’t like – but he would have known what to do, Minho was sure of it. For a short moment, he entertained the thought of asking his mother – but she was most likely still next to the bed, next to his father.

Minho’s mind whipped around, trying to find a way, any way, out of this situation but it couldn’t come up with one. Because there was none. Finally, his little body couldn’t take more of the stress and he started crying.

 

* * *

 

 

Jim felt nauseous. They had finally arrived at the Dachau concentration camp and the officers had warned them about what they would find. But nothing could have prepared him for the horrors they actually did encounter. A column of people – no, walking skeletons – had approached them on the road to the camp, some of them naked, nonr of them adequately dressed. One look at them and Dick had fainted. Their faces resembled skulls more than anything. They seemed to be walking on sticks, rather than actual legs. Several had fallen down and died on the spot. Every instinct in Jim had screamed to give them a lot of food as soon as possible but they had heard the stories about Auschwitz, where dozens of freed prisoners had died after eating some bread because their body couldn’t handle it anymore. His troops had soup with them, just broth really, and they would slowly try and help those, who wanted to be helped.

Seeing the living corpses had all at once made Jim an even fiercer believer of his cause and his land, but at the same time made him unable to continue. So, he had stolen away. Just for a few minutes to gain his composure back. His Linda had always said he was too sentimental. He grudgingly had to agree as he stumbled through the edges of a forest, fighting the tears that were so violently clogging up his throat.

He was about ready to turn back around and pretend he had never been gone when he heard cries. It was obvious that the person had been crying for a long time, the screams were raw and sounded hurtful. Gripping his rifle more forcefully and adjusting his helmet, Jim started to advance towards the source of the cries. He half expected some Germans to have rounded up more innocents and killing them. But the scene he came across was even more heart-wrenching in its own way. A black-haired kid sat pressed up against the fence that surrounded the camp, holding the hand of another, younger kid, seemingly unconscious, whose leg was obviously broken beyond repair. Next to him lay the corpse of a man. Jim was too far away to see whether the man was still breathing. But it was obvious in how starved and completely without tension he lay that he couldn’t have been alive. The cries came from the kid that was outside.

Jim quickly wiped away a few tears that had spilled over at the sight and drew closer very slowly. The conscious child wore the typical German clothing and he was probably trained to attack anyone who was wearing the uniform of an Allied Nation. And Jim was American. The worst sort.

But he was surprised when the child eventually turned around to look at him and didn’t show a reaction. The boy started talking through his cries and Jim once more cursed himself for not listening to Linda when she told him to learn at least some German. So, he did the only thing he could think of: he whirled around and ran off to find Jinki. The soldier with the weird name, he had said he was Korean, Jim had no idea where that was, spoke fluent German (and French). And he was a very kind person that immediately made you feel comfortable. Jim felt like those kids needed someone like that. He found Jinki, and Jonghyun of course, as they were wrapping blankets around the shoulders of some of the naked prisoners.

“Jinki,” Jim gasped.

“Oh, Jim.” Jinki replied. He didn’t smile like he usually did, and Jim was thankful. In this situation, a smile would have been the least appropriate expression he could imagine.

“I found something. Someone, I mean. Two kids. One inside, one outside. The one inside is unconscious, and his leg is broken. There’s a corpse with them. Could you have a look at them?” Jim’s heart hurt just describing the situation. It seemed like talking about big amounts of people being killed and mistreated and abused didn’t hurt as much as talking about an individual life. Jim briefly wondered why that way but decided it was too complex for him. Many things were too complex for him.

“Yes, of course, oh my God, I will go immediately. Jjong, you coming?” Jinki gently laid the last of his blankets onto another woman and the two Koreans left hurriedly. Jim picked up the blankets Jonghyun had dropped and continued their task.

 

* * *

 

 

Jonghyun ran after Jinki, his eyes already blurry again after just hearing Jim’s rushed explanation. After all the horrors and breaking down more than twice in Jinki’s arms, he didn’t think he could handle much more. But deep down he knew that just the idea of two helpless children gave him the strength to carry on and do what was needed. He almost bumped into Jinki’s back when the other stopped suddenly. Jonghyun took a step to the left to stand next to him and see the scene for himself.

Jim’s words and all he had seen so far in those last months of needless fighting and countless deaths could not have prepared him for the sheer desperation and hopelessness of the sight before him. The boy outside of the fence was wailing into the sky and he seemed to hold onto the boy on the inside for sheer life.  Even from a few paces away, it was obvious that it was almost a miracle that the smaller boy was still alive. He was unbelievably starved and the effort his body must be going through to deal with the impossibly broken leg could easily be too much to handle. The body language of the dead man next to them was quite peculiar however. Jonghyun had seen too many dead people to count but very few had looked like they were just sleeping. The man looked like he had embraced death and hadn’t been afraid of it.

Jinki started approaching the boys and got down on his knees next to them. Jonghyun hurried after him. One quick look at the boy on the other side of the fence showed that he was indeed still alive. But his breathing was shallow, and it didn’t look like he was just sleeping.

“Hello,” Jinki said gently in his accented German. Jonghyun understood German almost perfectly but he had a lot of trouble speaking it. That’s what Jinki was for. “My name is Jinki.”

The boy hiccupped and stared at them. “You’re not German.” He accused but his voice didn’t hold the fierce tone it was probably supposed to have.

“No, we’re from the USA. Do you know where that is?”

“No. I just know that you are evil.”

Jonghyun choked and Jinki threw him a quick glare. “Do you really think we are evil? What have we done to you?”

The boy started crying again. “I don’t know! Everyone keeps saying that you shouldn’t be allowed here and that you would destroy our culture and that we should fight, but what is our culture when Ernst isn’t breathing, and I can’t wake Taemin up? Can you make Ernst breathe again?”

Jonghyun and Jinki shared a quick look when the unmistakably Korean name popped up. Now that Jonghyun paid closer attention, the unconscious boy certainly did not look white.

“I’m afraid we can’t.” Jinki answered, sounding incredibly sad. “But we can do something so Taemin wakes up.”

The boy perked up immediately and a look of joy, so pure that it almost didn’t fit onto his sunken in cheeks, lit up his face. “Really?” He asked breathlessly.

“Really, really.” Jinki said smiling. It always baffled Jonghyun how even under a soldier’s helmet, Jinki’s smile could be so heartbreakingly beautiful. “But first we have to get him out of there. Jonghyun,” Jinki turned around but didn’t switch into English or Korean. He didn’t want to lose the boy’s trust, Jonghyun realized. “Could you go and get Taemin out of there?”

Jonghyun nodded and ran off immediately. Thankfully, the other troops didn’t ask any questions when he zoomed past them – the situation was too chaotic, too emotional for anyone to have a clear sense of what was going on at all.

He reached Jinki and the boys again in no time.

“See, here he is.” Jinki said to the frowning boy. “Now you just have to let go of Taemin’s hand so Jonghyun can take him to us on this side of the fence.”

Panic-filled eyes turned to look at Jinki. “No! You are going to take him away! Like they did with Hans!”

“I promise we won’t. Jonghyun is going to carry him around the fence to this spot.”

The boy gnawed on this bottom lip, his grip on Taemin’s hand tightening. It took a bit of back and forth but eventually they agreed that Jinki and the boy would walk along the fence while Jonghyun carried Taemin out, so he would never be out of the boy’s sight.

“But what about Ernst?” The boy asked suddenly.

“I’m afraid we can’t do anything for him right now.” Jinki replied sadly. “But someone will come later and take care of him, I promise.”

The boy seemed satisfied with that and Jonghyun really didn’t know why he trusted them so readily, but he was glad he did.

“What is your name?” He asked hesitantly – he knew his German was bad and heavily accented.

“Michel. I mean, Minho. My name is Minho.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jinki ended up carrying Minho while Jonghyun carried Taemin. Minho had tried to stand up but after a night outside, leaned against the fence, as he had told Jinki while Jonghyun was gone, and no food, his body was too weak to support him. He was worryingly light.

Minho never took his eyes off Taemin, whimpering slightly when Jonghyun had to go around an obstacle and got slightly farther away from them. They met at the gate and Minho immediately reached out for Taemin’s still form. Jinki’s heart ached at the sight of Minho, still in his arms, lightly stroking Taemin’s face. He did not know the story of those two boys but when Minho turned to look at him and said, “I can finally hug him,” with eyes filled with so much innocent wonder, he knew that the story was probably one of the saddest he would ever hear.

One of the US doctors gave Minho some broth and tried to stabilize Taemin’s leg. “It’s not going to heal correctly without surgery.” He said to Jonghyun. “I can’t perform the necessary procedures here. It’s going to have to get broken again so we can fix it. But for now, I’m going to give his body the necessary help.”

Jonghyun thanked him profusely and Jinki managed to distract Minho enough so he didn’t have to see the gruesome pulling and twisting the doctor had to do on Taemin’s tiny leg. Taemin was also given an injection with nutrition and pain medicine and the doctor left them with a bitter smile and a “he will be alright. Give him broth when he wakes up”.

Jinki watched as Minho lay down next to Taemin on the cot that was usually way too small for the soldiers – but it dwarfed the two boys anyways. Minho seemed careful not to come into contact with Taemin’s leg, but he did manage to curl himself around the other with obviously no intention to ever let go. It did not take long for him to fall asleep.

With one of the doctors promising she would call them as soon as either boy awoke, Jinki and Jonghyun went back on duty. Jonghyun told the team that dealt with dead victims about the corpse that had been with Taemin and Minho. Then he and Jinki joined a group that cleaned out the houses that were used by the Germans, in the hopes of finding useful material to bring justice to the people of Europe. It was times like these that Jinki despised understanding so well. They couldn’t find much – true to their nature, the Germans had been very thorough in cleaning up after themselves even during their hasty retreat.

“Hey, Jinki,” Jonghyun broke the silence. He spoke in Korean. “How do you think Minho and Taemin ended up here?”

Two other soldiers in the same room rolled their eyes and muttered “Monkey language” to each other. Jinki, as always, ignored them. “I really don’t know. But it looks a bit like Minho grew up as a German so far. He’s wearing the clothes and he was outside the fence. And at first he said his name was Michel.”

Jonghyun managed a half-hearted grin. “Well, his eyes definitely are big enough for that.”

They cleaned up two more houses and were about to continue with the next when Jim came running up to them. “Jinki!” (Jinki would forever snigger about Jim’s refusal to pronounce Jonghyun’s name because it embarrassed him that he couldn’t pronounce it.) “Minho is up. Christie told me to get you.”

“One day, he will recognize me.” Jonghyun muttered in Korean and Jinki had to fight to supress his chuckle.

“We will be there in a minute. Thank you, Jim.”

Jim nodded and saluted and left.

“He’s a good kid.” Jinki mused. “A bit dumb, maybe, but he doesn’t mean any harm.”

“I know, still.” Jonghyun grumbled. They hurried to the cot and Jinki’s heart broke a bit more when he saw Minho crying again.

“Hey, what’s the matter.” Jinki asked gently, crouching down next to the cot to be on the same level as the boy.

“Taemin is still not awake.” Minho sniffled. “He won’t react to anything I do.”

Jinki quickly looked at the other child. Even though he was still unconscious, his breathing had visibly stabilized, and his features had smoothed out into a more peaceful expression. Jinki pointed it out to Minho and was pleased to see Minho’s face light up. Surprisingly, the boy stood up – the broth seemed to have done wonders – straight and asked very earnestly how he could help. Jinki, who was just as tall as Minho in his kneeling position, actually chuckled at that. “The best help would be to be with Taemin when he wakes up and to sleep a bit. And then, when you are stronger again, you can help with other stuff.”

Minho looked a bit crestfallen, but he obeyed and climbed back onto the cot. “The sun sets soon,” he said suddenly, sitting up again. “I haven’t been home since yesterday morning!”

Jinki felt stunned. Jonghyun stiffened behind him so he knew the other felt the same. Neither of them had accounted for the possibility that Minho might have a family. Even a home seemed unlikely.

“Your parents must be really worried.” Jonghyun said slowly and Jinki was so proud of him for not being too shy to speak German.

Minho deflated. “I don’t think they noticed I’m gone.”

“Should we bring you to them?” Jinki asked cautiously. He didn’t think he or Jonghyun would be well received in their US uniforms. But he felt responsible for those boys and considering how little he could do in the war, helping those two innocents get home felt like the least he could do.

“Could we take Taemin as well? The war is over now, right?” Minho looked hopeful and with a wrench of his heart Jinki realized that the boy did not know a world without peace. Minho had no concept of a world that was not drowning in war.

“Not entirely but it will be very soon.” Jinki smiled.

“Then Mama and Papa should be nice again and they will like to have Taemin with us. Everybody has to love Taemin.” Minho nodded resolutely to himself.

And so Jinki ended up carrying Minho again while Jonghyun held Taemin. Minho directed them back to the spot where Jim had found him and Taemin and then into the woods. Jinki noted thankfully that the corpse had been taken care of. It wasn’t a long walk, just over a small hill and Minho obviously knew the area very well. They came upon a small village. People were walking along the streets. They were all very skinny, Jinki noted, and their clothes looked ragged.

The house Minho called home was on the edge of the town. Jinki was thankful because it meant that he and Jonghyun weren’t seen. He didn’t want to be attacked by a whole village.

Minho climbed out of his arms and knocked at the door. A man who looked like he was in his sixties opened, cast a long, penetrating look at Jinki and Jonghyun and then called over his shoulder. “Gertrude! You might want to come here.”

Minho was bouncing on his heels and when a worn-out, tired looking woman came to the door, he let out a happy squeal and went to hug her, but she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Michel,” she said but she didn’t look at him, she was staring at Jinki, Jonghyun and Taemin.  “So, scum always finds the others of its kind.” She muttered and Jinki’s heart sank.

“Mama, this is Taemin and Jinki and Jonghyun,” Minho stumbled slightly over Jonghyun’s name as he proudly introduced them. “Taemin is my best friend and Jinki and Jonghyun saved him. Can he stay with us?”

Gertrude never even looked him, her eyes never left the US soldiers. “Absolutely not.” She replied in a tone so calm that it seemed to take Minho several moments to understand the words.

“What, Mama, why?”

“Because right now I’m not even sure whether you will stay here.”

“Huh?” Minho asked, obviously not understanding what the woman in front of him was saying. Her grip on his shoulder started to look too tight to not be painful. Jinki started to feel slightly sick.

“I’ll be back in a moment.” Gertrude announced and finally tore her gaze away from Jonghyun and Jinki and disappeared inside the house.

Jinki fought with himself to let Minho stay standing there, to maybe help Gertrude decide against kicking her son out. But Minho looked so frail and when he started swaying on his feet, Jinki couldn’t resist anymore. He quickly stepped up and lifted Minho up into his arms. Minho seemed thankful that he could relax again and not use the little energy he had left on simply keeping himself upright. In a matter of seconds, he was asleep.

“What will we do if she refuses to take in either of them?” Jonghyun asked quietly in Korean.

“I don’t know.” Jinki answered, feeling just as miserable as he sounded. “I’m not even sure I would want them to stay here after meeting her.”

Jonghyun made an affirmative noise. “I know what you mean. Do you think Gwiboon-“

“In a heartbeat.” Jinki replied without doubt. “I don’t think she would hesitate.”

Gertrude reappeared before Jonghyun could say anything. She held a small sack in her hand. “You,” she pointed at Jinki. “You know German?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Come in then. Leave Minho here.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jinki came out of the house several minutes later. Jonghyun was sitting on the ground, Taemin still in his arms and Minho was still sleeping next to him. One look at Jinki’s face confirmed his worries. Gertrude didn’t come outside. But Jinki held the sack from before in his hands.

Jonghyun gulped.

“I’ll tell you later. Let’s get them away from here.” Jinki said and Jonghyun just nodded numbly. A million considerations raced through his mind, a thousand ‘but’s and hundreds of ‘impossible’s. Jinki picked up Minho and smiled. “We’ll figure something out. I promise.”

Jonghyun smiled back bravely. “Yeah. We will.”

Back at their camp, Jinki and Jonghyun laid Minho and Taemin on a cot again. The small sack that, as it turned out, contained a few of Minho’s personal possessions, was put on the ground next to them.

They knew they had to find the officer to get a task. Jonghyun had already turned around but Jinki suddenly gripped his wrist. “Look.” He whispered.

On the cot, Taemin was stirring awake. He opened his eyes and seemed lost as he looked around. But then he turned his head in the other direction and a heartbreakingly pure smile broke out on his face. “Minho.” He whispered and cuddled into his friend. Jonghyun’s eyes began to sting from unshed tears.

“We have to protect them Jinki. We just have to.” He said through his closed throat.

“Yes. We really, really do.” Jinki’s voice sounded just as pressed as Jonghyun’s.

 

* * *

 

The doorbell rang. The cup Gwiboon had been holding slipped out of her hand and shattered on the floor. Someone ringing the bell meant that someone was in front of their house. Someone was visiting her.

A visit couldn’t be good. Jinki, Jonghyun and her lived too far out on the countryside for anyone to make their way to them by mistake. Jinki and Jonghyun wouldn’t ring the doorbell when they came home. The only reason for anyone to visit would be to … bring news.

“No!” She clasped her hand in front of her mouth, tears already spilling down her cheeks. Her quick, heavy heartbeat made her feel sick, but she managed to open the door eventually.

For a wild second, she though there was no one there but then she realized that in front of her were two children. She had so surely expected to be faced with a military official that her eyes had automatically directed upwards.

The boys were both of obvious East Asian descent, with straight black hair. The taller of the two however looked like he also had some other genes in him. His eyes gave it away. They were holding hands tightly and the taller used his free hand to present her with a letter.

She opened it with trembling fingers, aware of the intense looks she got from the boys and felt her world right itself again when she saw the familiar chaos of the mix of Jonghyun’s and Jinki’s handwriting. They were ok.

 

> _Our Dearest Gwiboonie,_
> 
> _We hope we didn’t shock you too much. Jonghyun was very worried about how you would feel when the letter and the boys are delivered but we didn’t see a better way. These two boys in front of you are called Taemin (the smaller one) and Minho (the one with the big eyes). Saying we found them here in Germany might sound a bit weird but that’s kind of exactly what happened. Did you guys hear about the concentration camps yet? Like, did the media cover them in detail? If they didn’t, a short summary: Everyone who wasn’t considered worthy to live (y’know, Jews, Gays, Gypsies, Social Democrats and so on) were put in these camps where they were put to work until they died. You can’t imagine the horrible living conditions those people faced. In some of the camps, many people were methodically killed, with gas or poison. We’ll stop here because Jonghyun is crying again but just know that in your wildest dreams you can’t imagine a worse place than those camps._
> 
> _We found Taemin in the one in Dachau, near Munich. We’re not entirely sure how he got there. He told us he was at an orphanage before and some day they just collected all the children and brought them to the camp. Sergeant Smith said that they were probably put there because no one can be sure about their ancestry and thus they might not be purely Aryan, so it was considered more efficient to get rid of all of them at once. We sadly couldn’t find any of Taemin’s siblings (as he calls them)._
> 
> _Minho was not in the camp. But he lived close by and he and Taemin met by chance and became friends. It’s hard to imagine what they went through, especially in winter – both of them don’t really talk about it. Minho was taken in by a German couple where the woman can’t have children. It may sound like a selfless act, but it was mostly the thought that the Nazis really don’t like women like that. They were considered expendable because they wouldn’t “do their part” in ensuring that the Aryan race would continue. So, before someone could suspect anything, they found a woman who agreed to carrying a child for them. That lady was part of the Korean Olympics team in Berlin, 1936. That couple is really lucky that Minho looks the way he does and could pass as a German (especially in the uniforms all boys were required to wear most of the time). We wanted to bring Minho to his family after we found him and Taemin, but his ‘mother’ snapped – it was probably a reaction due to the combination of losing the war, her husband being gravely injured and then seeing American soldiers in front of her door. I’m trying not to blame her but it’s hard. The whole ordeal made Minho very sad and very unsure._
> 
> _We couldn’t see a way to leave these boys in Germany. Call it Korean companionship or being way too soft for the world, but they, especially Taemin, are definitely not German enough to live in a society that was so horrifically racist. Even though we defeated the army, the racism and xenophobia doesn’t go away overnight. But we couldn’t have them stay with us soldiers, they are children. So, we figured that you would think the same way we do and just sent them over to you. They only speak German, but we taught them the absolute basics in English and we know that you still know some German. We know that you guys will be fine. They are lovely, trust us, you will probably already be in love by the time you go to bed tonight (but don’t you dare replace us as the most important men in your life. That’s our spot!)._
> 
> _And now, because that’s probably important to you: we are both fine and healthy. No injuries, no sickness, nothing. Some of the things we saw will stay with us for a long time, but we have each other for comfort. Please don’t worry about us. Now that the war is pretty much over, we will be home soon._
> 
> _We love you and send you a thousand hugs and kisses (each)._
> 
> _Your Jinki and your Jonghyun_
> 
> _PS: If you could find out who Hans and Ernst are, that would be great. We can’t get the boys to tell us, but we think they’re really important to them._

 

Gwiboon quickly wiped away the tears that had gathered in her eyes as she read the letter and looked at the two boys. After knowing their backstory, no matter how roughly, she could see the defeated looks in their eyes, the tiredness in their body language and the obvious malnourishment. Taemin had moved to stand slightly behind Minho while still gripping his hand. It made her smile a little.

A small part of her brain told her that she should be mad at her partners for just throwing these kids at her without warning or time to prepare. But she knew that they didn’t have a way to contact her quickly and easily and giving the letter to the boys was probably the only way they saw to make sure the letter didn’t arrive later than the kids. There were more important things to take care of in the middle of a war than the postal system.

She smiled again, a little wider this time and stepped aside to hold the door open for Taemin and Minho. “Hello,” (her German was very shaky) “please, do come in. I was just about to start cooking.”

 

* * *

 

When Jinki and Jonghyun returned home from war for the last time, nine months after Taemin and Minho arrived, Gwiboon’s German and Minho’s and Taemin’s English were almost perfect. The two boys needed a few minutes to warm up to the soldiers again – but that was just fine, because Gwiboon, Jonghyun and Jinki needed that time to sob in each other’s arms anyway.

“Being in love with two men is a horrible idea.” Gwiboon sniffled into Jonghyun’s shoulder after Jinki had let go of them to squat down in front of Minho and Taemin to reacquaint himself with them. “All the worries and angst the other women had, I had twice. It’s a shame both of you are so awesome.”

Jonghyun muffled his laughter in her hair. “We missed you Boonie. You can’t imagine how much we missed you.”

“Yes, I can you jerk.” She pouted and then turned around in his arms to watch their boyfriend talk with Taemin and Minho.

“How are they doing?” Jonghyun asked quietly. His arms around her tightened.

“They still wake up screaming sometimes. But it’s gotten better. There are some things that make them retreat into their shells, but I discovered most of it and removed what I could. You know that pickaxe that belonged to Jinki’s father? I’ve hidden it in the attic for now. Taemin passed out when he saw that.”

Jonghyun frowned. “That’s probably because of the quarry. Taemin had hurt himself there before we found them.”

“And Hans died after an accident there.” Gwiboon said quietly. She heard Jonghyun’s sharp intake of breath.

“You found out who they are?”

“Kinda. Apparently, they were a gay couple in the camp who took care of Taemin. Hans died, I think he was killed after being injured from what Minho told me, and then Ernst started giving most of his food to Taemin. He was with them when you found them.” Gwiboon hated to think of these two men. Her heart ached for them in a way that she never knew it could.

“Oh God,” Jonghyun’s whimper was shaky. “He was the corpse. I totally forgot about that. We just told someone to get the dead body without even thinking about it.”

Gwiboon tore her eyes off the sight of Jinki listening avidly to Minho’s and Taemin’s English and turned around again. “Hey,” she murmured and tilted Jonghyun’s face so he would look her in the eye. “Don’t think about it. The circumstances then were extreme and if you worry that you robbed Taemin and Minho of their chance to say goodbye, don’t. They know more about what was going on than you think. They know that Ernst didn’t want to live anymore, and they know that he is probably the reason why Taemin is still alive. They already said goodbye in their own way so it’s best not to stir it up again.” She smiled at the tears that ran down Jonghyun’s cheeks and reached up to wipe them away gently. “Hey, don’t cry. This is a day of celebration. I’ll have Jinki slaughter the best turkey later and then we’ll have a feast for dinner. Okay?”

Jonghyun managed a smile through his tears. “Okay. I’ll go to Taemin and Minho now to make sure they didn’t forget me. Jinki is hogging all the attention.”

Gwiboon pressed one more kiss to his lips. “You don’t have to worry about that. Every time they play, and it has anything to do with heroes or defeating villains, Taemin is always you and Minho is always Jinki.” (That just made Jonghyun cry even harder than before.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I am very very fond of this story and I hope you enjoyed it too. If there is anything you noticed about coherency or grammar please tell me, I am very good at missing those things. 
> 
> Please leave a comment, I thrive on validation. And if you think there are warnings I should include in the tags that aren't covered by what's already in there please tell me too!! ♡
> 
> tumblr: jonghyoney.tumblr.com


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